Musée Barbier-Mueller – The African connection and beyond

This is a guest post by Angela Onikepe, who previously has talked about Square peg Frankfurt.

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The Musée Barbier-Mueller sits discreetly on a quiet street just right after you scale the steps leading into the heart of Geneva’s Old Town.  When you enter the museum, there is a muted and intimate atmosphere that envelopes you as you step into a world of classical and tribal antiquities. What particularly drew my interest was their collection of African masks; who’s to say, but I think I was looking for some remnants of home or some glimpse into the past of my native Nigeria. And, I was not disappointed.

It was the pieces from the ancient Yorùbáland (which spanned what is today Nigeria, Togo and Benin) that spoke to me in a language I understood.  There was the 14th/15th century headdress from the Kingdom of Ifẹ̀ (Ilé Ifẹ̀ in Yorùbá), made of terra cotta, which exudes a regal essence befitting the elements on the mask identified with royal Yorùbá lineages.

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Headdress, Ilé Ifẹ̀, Nigeria, 14th-15th century. © Musée Barbier-Mueller, Photo Studio Ferrazzini Bouchet.

In African culture, masks always served a tangible purpose and were deeply ingrained into the functional life of Africans. They were not decorations. Although their role was fundamentally religious, their roles also spanned several spheres in society, from social to familial, religious and educational and not to mention, their use also for entertainment purposes, social control and rites of passage. In sum, they were integral parts of the traditional society. Of course, each African country with its myriad cultures, expresses this element in its own unique way but the one common thread that binds all African masks is the fact that the mask itself, despite its real-life functionality, was meant to represent something that is, for all intents and purpose absent; a higher reality that is not readily accessible. The mask, in turn, becomes a symbol, rendered into a concrete and sensible form.

You can sense this robustness in history with Musée Barbier-Mueller’s collections of African masks.  Indeed, this feeling emanates from all the collections in museum. The museum hums; almost as if you are placing your hand on a beating core as you encounter each item. But back to my quest to brush and nuzzle against my people’s past.

There was the Sceptre with a Horseman, also from the Kingdom of Ifẹ̀ which actually inspired Jean Paul Barbier-Mueller himself. Barbier-Mueller calls the Sceptre “the ‘Mona Lisa’ of our collection” and spoke about its “intense beauty and rarity… which furthermore testifies to the grandeur of a civilisation of which the whole of humanity could be proud.”

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Sceptre with a Horseman, from Ilé Ifẹ̀, Nigeria, 12th-13th century. © Musée Barbier-Mueller, Photo Studio Ferrazzini Bouchet.

I did step away from “home plate”, so to speak, to see the other West African masks in the collection. One of the first masks that caught my eye was actually the Kanaga facial mask from the Dogon in Mali. Kanaga masks are the most well-known from the Dogon people and usually represent a bird known as the Kommolo Tebu. The masks owe their existence to a legendary and mythical hunter, who after subduing a Kommolo Tebu, fashioned a mask in its likeness. You cannot deny the majestic stance of a Kanaga mask; it demands attention.

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Kanaga Facial mask, Dogon, Mali, 14th-15th century. © Musée Barbier-Mueller, Photo Studio Ferrazzini Bouchet.

The Grand Masque from the Bwa in Burkina Faso, essentially made of leaves, feathers and plant fibers and meant to serve as a connection to the world of spirits, was not something that could be ignored.

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Grand Masque from the Bwa (also known as the Bobo Oulé), Burkina Faso. © Musée Barbier-Mueller, Photo Studio Ferrazzini Bouchet.

I went to Musée Barbier-Mueller looking for the African connection; not only can you do the same, but your experience can also expand beyond my part of the neighbourhood to other parts of the world and pretty soon, after seeing the museum’s collections, you will find yourself humming right along with it.

The Barbier-Mueller collection did not start with its Yoruba “Mona Lisa.” The beginnings of its collection are rooted in the 1920s when Josef Mueller, at first interested in European art, moved to Paris and eventually started working with art dealers specializing in non-Western art. Mueller was so inspired, that he would go to flea markets with large empty suitcases, embarking on new adventures and new discoveries.  Anne-Joëlle Nardin, the Deputy Director in charge of communication, explains the history behind the museum, mentioning the passion that fuelled Mueller’s sojourns. Years later, Mueller’s daughter Monique, would marry Jean-Paul Barbier who was also an avid collector. Upon Mueller’s death in 1977, the Barbier and Mueller collections were merged into the private 7,000-item collection that exists today.  But the collection expands beyond Africa and Oceania; there are also objects from the East Indies and Greece, to name a few. Jean Paul Barbier-Mueller is, as Josef Mueller was, impassioned by the beauty of these pieces of history and a desire is to give the public access to them.

The museum’s exhibitions change twice a year. A new collection will be unveiled on October 17 where you can “Discover the Baga from Guinea.” See you there!

Marcelo Jacome: colouring space with kites

I take a wrong turn in the cavernous premises at 43 route des Jeunes, Geneva. The team from Espace_L are discussing their huge white walls in rapid Portuguese. They are amused that I ask to look around an empty space. They offer me a glass of wine. I find a young man untangling the fine strings of hundreds of paper kites.

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I learn that Marcelo Jacome’s “Pipos planos” (kites) has recently caused a sensation at Saatchi Gallery‘s exhibition “Paper.” I have the good fortune to stumble across him installing his masterpiece here. This is serendipity indeed. And…. My! Oh! My! Take a look at what Saatchi found!

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My first impression is of weightless, delicate butterflies driven en masse along a migratory route by some primordial urge. But then there is something human, dynamic and temporary about the chaotic shapes and hues: the tents at a massive rock festival maybe? Whatever, it fills space with colour and lifts the spirits. I am thrilled that I can see this work and others for real at the opening at Espace-L on 17 September.

Marcelo interrupts his work for a chat. This charming thirty-three year-old Brazilian architect took up painting eight years ago. His large studio led him to move from two to three dimensions and to explore what he terms “the chromatic mass of urban spaces.” He is animated in describing his journey. His influences? Henri Matisse and Arturo Bispo do Rosario. His music? Jazz! The best part of his international career? Meeting people! The worst part of his international career? Meeting more people! Who’s going to win the next world cup? Marcelo puts his head in his hands. “I hate football!” This is a very unusual Brazilian! I leave him to work out how he’s going to complete his installation.

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Boa sorte, Marcelo!

The World Turns by Michael Parekowhai

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Michael Parekowhai‘s bronze is a life-sized Indian Elephant apparently standing on its head with its feet attached to a rock. Beside it, easily overlooked, is a life-sized, Australian, Native Water Rat grooming its bronze fur. The work stands on the South Bank of the Brisbane River outside the Art Gallery. The Elephant is smooth to touch, unlike a real Elephant and I find it a pleasant sensation to run my hands over the wonderful folds in its skin.

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Both animals are portrayed in an extremely accurate way, which for me, is the most important thing about any work. I am attracted to realistic sculptures in that I appreciate the skill involved. This may seem strange coming from a cartoonist. (We asked Garth for cartoon examples of these animals and he sent us two he had used to illustrate an article on the law concerning trapping of animals – see below!) The Elephant’s massive strength is somehow accentuated by the way it is pushing back on the rock to prevent itself being turned on its back. The Rat’s fussy grooming is typically rodentious – now there’s a new word for the dictionary! So I find myself liking this unusual work very much. I walk around it and realise that its placement with the background of the impressive Brisbane skyline adds greatly to my enjoyment.

Then I read about the sculpture. “The World Turns” was commissioned by the Queensland Government in 2011. The descriptive plaque tells us that the Native Rat is a hero, a traditional caretaker, together with the Native People, of the Mangroves at Kurilpa point where the Gallery stands. This initially seems to give some geographical meaning to the work. It continues by telling us that the Rat goes about his business even though he has shifted the World, as represented by the Elephant and rock, from its axis. Oh! Dear! I am becoming confused! Not hard to do, I know, but I don’t like it. I read on about how the work “reminds us that history is often recorded to highlight specific moments, but, as the world turns, there are many other stories – and these are central to our understanding of history”. Now I am truly confused! Obscure and multiple meanings, poorly written, do not serve this wonderful work well in my opinion.

I walk away, annoyed that what I consider to be pretentious “art speak” has spoilt my complete enjoyment of the sculpture. This situation forces me to think about which is ultimately the more important, the work or the idea that drove its creation. I know that the two cannot exist without each other and the question is a difficult one. I try to find an analogy or parallel to clarify my thinking. I find it in poetry, where I am sure that any idea is given more power by words that intelligently and beautifully rhyme rather than simply being written down? Therefore the work is the greater of the two, ultimately speaking to us of its own beauty in spite of the idea that spawned it.

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